


Among the Swells [ON HOLD]

by SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by The Greatest Showman (2017)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-14 06:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14764601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash/pseuds/SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash
Summary: Anne Wheeler has spent her whole life surviving.From fleeing a life of slavery with her brother to struggling to make ends meet in New York, Anne Wheeler has known little more than hardship and resistance. But she has her brother, and they care for one another. This is the only thing that keeps Anne fighting, the only thing that gives her the energy to continue working as a maid in the home of the prestigious Carlyle family where she might as well be invisible. She can survive invisibility, just as long as she has W.D. and the abandoned barn where she can practice her ropes.But then Anne meets Phillip Carlyle, and suddenly she is no longer surviving-- she is living.[THIS WORK IS ON HOLD]





	1. An Interrogation

**Song of the Chapter: "[Fire](https://open.spotify.com/track/0Pry9GbsmrIcP7irAQfusi)" by Ingrid Michaelson**

* * *

 

It had been a stupid idea, really. 

Anne’s day had been exhausting, spent in the kitchens first scrubbing a mountain of dishes and then scrubbing and waxing floors late into the afternoon. Anne was used to heavy physical exercise; she had to be if she wanted to maintain the strength needed for the ropes. Aerial arts took a sort of strength that few possessed, and Anne was determined not to lose hers to the busy nature of life.

Still, that evening, her muscles screamed for relief. Everyone knew that Charlotte Carlyle liked things done quickly, and so Anne had scrubbed what must have been at least a quarter of the mansion’s wooden floors in only a few hours. Even for the aerialist, it was hard work and the lye in the water left her hands raw and aching. No, there would be no ropes tonight, that was for certain. The thought of being grounded for another full day made Anne’s heart sink as the woman quietly left the supply closet where she had stored the washing pail.

It was only when she glanced out the window at the moonlit grounds that she had an idea. 

A little smile played with her lips, and Anne slowly moved to pull the cap off of her dark bun. She glanced over her shoulder, and seeing no one, Anne quickly slipped out the servants’ exit into the night. 

The gardens sprawled out before Anne, the picture of perfection and luxury. However, just because they were luxurious did not mean they were overdone. Every stone on the cobbled path before Anne seemed perfectly cut, and her eyes could not find a leaf or a branch out of place. The gardens were elaborate, yes, but not in excess-- they were the epitome of order as well, the same way that the Carlyle family was. 

These gardens were not what commanded Anne’s attention, however. The woods beyond a wrought-iron fence called out to her instead, reaching with twisted boughs that beckoned like grotesque fingers. The dark, wild mystery of the wood of the estate was far more appealing to her than any beautiful garden, and so it was there she went. 

It was not difficult to scale the fence, not for someone like Anne. She found a foothold in the symmetrical curls of metal, and then she was over, landing with a quick exhale on the other side. There was no path other than a little trail that had likely been left by some large animal such as a deer, but that was all that she needed anyway. Anne began to walk along the path alone, relishing the silence and her own company. 

The woods were mostly made up of tightly condensed trees at first. Dead leaves crunched underneath Anne’s worn boots as she walked, and the crunching and rustling was a welcome addition to the forest’s music. The wind in the leaves almost seemed to be singing that night, and every so often she could hear the rustling of some small creature in the undergrowth. Anne thought it was beautiful, in its own way. It was an independently functioning system, one that did not rely on anything but the resources it already had. 

What would it take, Anne wondered, to be like that: independent, untouched, safe? That was what she wanted, for herself and for W.D. But they would never have it. 

Anne continued to walk, but as she did, she began to notice that the trees were becoming more evenly spaced. As she followed the trail, she began to notice more peaceful clearings, and through the leaves that composed the canopy, she could catch glimpses of the starry sky and the waxing moon. Quietly at first, Anne’s ears picked up the sound of trickling water. As she continued, it grew louder, and then she spotted it through the trees-- a large brook, babbling and gushing by beneath the trees like a secret the forest had been keeping especially for her. 

For the first time in a long time, excitement began to toy with Anne’s heart. She followed the path to the bed of the brook, and she knelt beside it to dip her cupped hands in the water. The moonlight made the water appear to be liquid moonlight as she watched it trickle through her fingers, and a soft laugh escaped her lips. Anne looked up to see where the stream went, and as she followed its course with her eyes, it appeared to grow wider. 

But there, in the distance, it abruptly stopped. 

Confusion caused the young maid’s brow to furrow. She stood from where she had been kneeling and began to follow it further. The babbling grew louder and louder as the brook grew in size, and soon it was absolutely thunderous against the young woman’s ears. The end of the stream came closer and closer, and then Anne understood. She was not standing beside a brook, she was standing beside the stream that fed into a waterfall. 

Anne, for the first time in what might have been years, began to feel a childish impulse fill her. This feeling was what had drawn her to the aerial arts, to trapeze and ropes and the aerial hoop. And now, as she began to run alongside the stream, a little laugh bubbled free of her lips. Something about the night, alone in the woods with a new discovery all her own, was freeing. At that moment, Anne was not a servant in the Carlyle home or a poor black woman in a society that loathed her. 

She was Anne Wheeler, and the freedom she so craved was in her grasp. 

Anne followed the stream to an overhang, and when she looked down, her head spun deliciously from the height. Perhaps forty feet below was a pool that was fed by the waterfall. It was deep and beautiful, and Anne felt her whole body ache for the cool touch of the water against aching muscles. But she did not know if there were rocks below the surface so she could not jump. Instead, Anne easily lowered herself down the tumble of rocks and boulders beside the waterfall. It was no difficulty to find a foothold, and so she easily lowered herself down the piled rocks. 

When she reached the ground beside the pool, she easily began to undress to the white undershirt and pair of knee-length bloomers below her black uniform. Anne pulled her hair free of the bun, and it tumbled around her shoulders in messy curs. After she had removed her boots and threadbare stockings, the woman turned to the pool. She perched atop a stone that hung out over the water and dipped in a foot. It was deep, she could tell... Deep enough to jump. And so, with a slight laugh to herself, Anne took a leap off of the stone and into the water. 

The moment that the cool of the pond washed over her aching skin, Anne knew she had made the right decision. 

For a moment, the woman allowed herself to remain submerged beneath the surface, with bubbles rising in a cloud and pressing against her skin. When she could no longer hold her breath, Anne broke through the surface. Laughter began to leave her lips, and she knew she would have appeared a madwoman to anyone else as she began to float on her back. But she was free, just for a night, and it was addictive. 

“You must have time to talk, if you have time to swim in only your underthings,” came an amused, smooth voice from behind her. 

Anne nearly slipped under the surface then, forgetting to paddle for a moment. There was a mess of splashing as Anne struggled to regain her balance. It took a few seconds for her to begin treading water smoothly, and she whipped about to locate the source of the voice. 

The said source was standing several feet from the water, close enough that she could see him but much too far to reach. It was a man, tall and dressed in clothing that was finely made but wrinkled and disheveled. He walked with a swagger in his step as he approached the bundle of Anne’s clothing on the ground, picking it up as if he owned it. When he straightened, he looked her way and sent her a smirk that only made Anne’s hackles raise. 

His eyes met her own with a confidence that made Anne feel small, and she loathed it. “Hmm, what are these, then?” he asked innocently, beginning to rustle through her clothing. 

“That is my clothing, sir, and you will return it to me,” Anne replied, lifting her chin in an attempt to level the imbalance of power. Even in the water in her underthings, her gaze flashed dangerously. 

“Really?” the man returned, amusement in his voice as he turned over one of the old boots. Anne felt embarrassment fill her, which only made her angrier with him. Who was he, to make her feel small? If he had encountered her at any other time, Anne might have continued with the quiet, submissive attitude that was expected of her. But tonight, she was free, and she was not going to answer to this man, one who had clearly had a bit too much to drink. “Because you seemed awfully keen to get rid of it, or was that only because I was here?” 

Anne’s face flamed. How much had he seen? 

“I did not see you, sir, or else I would not have removed it in the presence of a man such as yourself, who takes advantage of young women,” she countered, arching an eyebrow. 

“Oh, come now,” the man laughed, gesturing grandly to the empty clearing. “Who is taking advantage? In fact, you can have your clothing back right now, if you come and get it.” 

Anne’s face only burned brighter then. Of course she could not get up to retrieve the clothing... Her undergarments were thin, and she was soaked. “We both know I cannot do that.” 

“Ah, shame,” the man sighed playfully. He moved even farther from the water, and Anne had to bite back a frustrated groan. He leaned against one of the trees with the clothing still in his arms, looking at her with that smirk still on his lips. 

Anne wanted to smack it off. 

“You can have them back, I suppose-” 

“You  _suppose_?” 

“-but you’ll have to work for it,” he finished. His eyes were sparkling with mischief, and Anne felt her skin crawl with humiliation and anger. Just who did he think he was? 

“And what do you mean by that?” she questioned stiffly. He was intentionally backing her into a corner. She wanted to know just what it was he wanted from her, regardless of whether or not she would give it. 

She did not want to give him anything. 

“I only want to talk, no need to be so defensive,” the man hummed, feigning hurt. But his eyes still held that glint, and she knew that he understood exactly what he was doing. He had control in the situation, and Anne loathed it. “I am going to ask questions, and I want you to answer them.” 

“Fine!” Anne finally burst, her frustration clear. She was sitting, nearly bare, in the middle of a pond before a man who seemed determined to make fun at her embarrassment. If she had been able to, she would have slapped him-- he damn well deserved it. 

“First,” the man said serenely, running a hand through his soft, tawny hair, “what is your name?” 

Anne was taken aback by that question, and her eyes narrowed. “I do not see what that has to do with anything.” 

“Oh, dear, and I thought you seemed intelligent. It’s quite simple, isn’t it? You answer my questions and you get your clothing back. So, that is my question, and if you do not answer it then I suppose I will be forced to keep these rather attractive boots.”

Oh, so he was poking fun at her status now? Or was he only mocking their situation? Anne did not know, but either way, she was at an impasse. 

There was a moment of silence in which she glared at him with the fiercest loathing. Her mind was clearly working a mile a minute, and he seemed to enjoy watching her. Finally, through clenched teeth, she spat, “Anne. My name is Anne.” 

“Anne what?” he queried. 

“Do you really want to push me further?” 

“Hmm... Now that you mention it, yes.” 

“Wheeler. Anne Wheeler.” She immediately pursed her lips after replying, looking away. She did not want to even look at him, the man who watched her with knowing eyes filled with amusement. She did not like surrendering, but she had no choice here. She needed that uniform, or she would lose her job. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it, Ms. Wheeler?” he asked, and when she looked up at him, there was still amusement in his eyes, but also something else she could not identify. 

“Not for you, no,” she retorted. “Can we please just get this over with?” 

“And I thought maybe you were starting to enjoy my company.” 

“I might enjoy it a bit more if I were clothed. “

He let out a little, amused hum. “Hmm, I suppose that is reasonable. Next question: how did you find this place?” 

That question caught her slightly off guard. “There was a deer trail,” she responded slowly. “I followed it, and it led me to the stream, and then I followed the stream. I assume you saw the rest.” 

If he insisted upon being a complete asshole, she might as well get something out of it, she reasoned. She wanted to know how much he had seen. 

“I did,” he agreed, and his eyes watched her shrewdly, gauging her reaction. “This is my spot, although I admit I do not go as...  _all out_ as you. I normally sit on the edge of the forest.” He was silent for a moment, and when she did not volunteer any information, he continued, “And what brought you here tonight?” 

Anne arched an eyebrow. “The deer trail,” she replied, deciding that if he was going to insist upon questioning her, she would remain as vague as possible. 

The man raised an eyebrow, and his eyes sparkled with mirth as he looked at her. “You aren’t going to make this easy, are you?” 

“No, I’m not predisposed to make my own interrogation easy,” she hummed by way of reply. It was strange, but for some reason, their banter was an easy pattern for Anne to fall into. This was the longest conversation she had had for a long while now, granted that her other conversations did not usually involve one person holding the other hostage. 

He laughed softly, and Anne was surprised that she had been the cause of that laugh. “Fine. Who are you? And not just your name, Ms. Wheeler. What do you do, where are you from?” 

Anne stiffened slightly, and all of the ease of their conversation faded as soon as he mentioned her origin. 

“I am a servant in the Carlyle household,” she responded, looking past him determinedly at the bough of one of the trees. “I live with my brother in an apartment in the city, about an hour’s walk away. Is that what you wanted to know, or may I have my clothing back, please?” 

The man’s eyes widened, and suddenly all traces of that confident smirk vanished. The stranger appeared completely different now, almost alarmingly so. He stared at her as if she had two head. “The Carlyles?” he repeated. “Charlotte and Arthur Carylye?” 

“Unless there happens to be another set, then yes,” she snapped. “Are you quite finished?” 

“Yes,” he said, and the man appeared almost in a daze as he set down her clothing by the water. “If you’ll excuse me, Ms. Wheeler. I have business to attend to.” 

Anne found herself unsure, now that she had what she wanted. Why did she feel... Almost guilty? If her standoffish nature had caused his change in attitude, then she was completely justified in snapping. He was the one who had been holding her at his mercy! So why on earth did she suddenly feel so unsteady? 

“Do not look at me, sir,” she called as she slowly approached the edge of the water. It did not matter much, he was already somewhere off in the forest, where she could barely make out his figure. 

“It was a pleasure, Ms. Wheeler,” came the voice from the woods, but it was already growing fainter. Anne stood, for a moment, dripping wet and up to her knees in the moonlit water. What was she supposed to make of that? She could no longer make out his figure in the trees, and then, she was alone. 

The only witness to that night’s events were her cheeks, burning against the cool night air.


	2. An Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> //I'm sorry, I had a graduation party today and my muse currently hates my guts. :( This is awkward, but the next one will be better.

**Song of the Chapter: "[Responsible](https://open.spotify.com/track/3CjTfVN316nCl2NRIVaAYV)" by Sara Bareilles**

* * *

 

Phillip had known he was a dead man walking when he heard her laugh, a sound that the night breeze carried him over the pool as if nature herself wanted him to stop and admire the wisp of a girl who might as well have been a sprite.

He came here often at night after particularly awful days, the sort where he spent a few hours in a pub first and left quite tipsy. Phillip's tolerance for alcohol was extremely high, so to have him showing even a little bit of the effects of drink meant that he had taken a lot. Last night, the night he had seen her, he had spent a fruitless day writing and then a night at a gala where his parents had attempted to throw no less than three women his way. What had happened after was the real instigator of his overindulgence of whiskey, but that was harder to put a finger on. It was a raised welt in the shape of a hand on his face and the shards of a thrown vase in the corner of the foyer. It was hearing again and again that he was a Carlyle, and that meant he had responsibilities that chained his whole life to the fortune. Phillip wished he could pull off the name like the stuffy overcoats he wore and just breathe for a moment as Phillip.

And then the universe had smiled upon him, and it had given him a moment. A fleeting one as it were, in the middle of the forest, Phillip had had a chance to be free of his name, and he had found his moment cloaked in her form.

As he sat at his writing desk, turning over the experience in his mind, Phillip could barely feel the headache that was normally crippling after bad nights. She had been a breath of fresh air, of something pure and simple and sweet that could not be bottled and sold for money the way that Carlyles did with every other experience. The drunken idea to keep her there had caused him to pick up her clothing, and then he had been greeted with a sharp wit that was uncommon in his circle. At parties, everyone used flowery language, walking in circles around what they really meant. But the girl, Anne Wheeler, said what she thought, and no more. Their banter had been a dance, two minds brushing up against one another in a way that Phillip's had not been able to do for a long time.

He knew that his parents would have been scandalized if they had known. They saw nothing except for what was skin deep, and her smooth skin was the color of black tea with cream. But it was beautiful, and she was beautiful, and the speed of her sharp tongue kept up a lively pace that was addictive to him. Phillip saw no importance in color but in their world, it was everything. His mother kept hordes of servants in their manor, people that he did not see often because he was away from home whenever he could be. But he knew that the overwhelming majority were black men and women, people who worked for little pay and suffered constant abuse at the hands of his mother.

And she was one of them, and suddenly Phillip was a Carlyle again.

Phillip groaned softly, crumpling a sheet of paper and his fist and throwing it towards the wastepaper basket across from his desk. He did not look to see whether or not he missed, only shoved back his chair and strode to look out the window onto the grounds. They were perfectly manicured and sprawling, and he could see the stables beyond, and the kitchens, and several various barns and sheds. His mother kept a vegetable garden-- meaning that the servants tended to acres of food that she claimed credit for. Still, it was beautiful to see all of the colorful, fruit-bearing plants in the summer sun. But as he looked out over everything, all he saw was the work that it must take to maintain it to his mother's standards. If her standards for him were so high, he could not imagine the expectations she had for her servants.

For Anne Wheeler.

Muttering under his breath, Phillip turned to leave his study. The walls of what was normally his escape felt like prison bars today. Phillip could not get her out of his mind, and he did not know what to do about it. He wanted to see her again, but then... She did not know who he was. If she did, she would loathe him more than she likely already did. There was a large chance they would never see one another again if he did not seek her out. The manor was massive, and most of the servants stayed in the kitchens. He could not tell if this relieved him or if it disappointed him. Maybe, he decided, it would be to both of their benefits if he never saw her again.

Or maybe the same force of chance that had brought them together the night before had other ideas.

Phillip grabbed his overcoat, sliding it on over his pristine clothing, and stepped out of the study. The hallway was empty, silent against the raging noise of his mind. Phillip walked with frustration nipping at his heels. He was not sure what he wanted, or if what he wanted even mattered. What he wanted might be exactly what was dangerous for the both of them. He was frustrated with himself now, too. All of this was over a girl, a girl he had spoken to exactly once, and against her will. What right did he have to be thinking like this? Especially when he did not have the right to choose any sort of girl. Wait, why am I thinking like I would choose her? he scolded himself. That's foolish, we've only spoken once. I wouldn't, would I?

Phllip strode out onto the grounds, deviating from the garden paths in favor of going to the stables. He was not exactly clothed in a comfortable manner, but he would ride anyway. The trails through the woods were calming, and his gray dappled stallion would love the chance to graze freely among the lush greens of the paths. Phillip had not taken Angus out for several days. The horse would be missing his company the way he always did, and he would surely check all of Phillip's pocket with a damp nose for treats. Perhaps, he decided, he could ask a stablehand if they had any apples, or perhaps a carrot or a cube of sugar.

As Phillip stepped into the stable aisle, the temperature dropped a few degrees. It was cool here, and the shade was a good relief from the summer heat. A skylight in the ceiling of the stables allowed the sun to light the space, and Phillip glanced into a few of the stalls as he passed. The horses within shifted, and coats of black, brown, and white met his gaze. They were gleaming, clearly well cared for by whoever was in charge of them. He took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of hay and the sweet scent of horses, feeling himself visibly relaxing. It had been a good decision to come here, he decided as the tension he had been holding in his shoulders loosened. Phillip glanced up, looking for a stablehand. His approach had been quiet, so no one would have heard him to come to his aid. It was only when he looked up that he located the stablehand and the girl who was talking to him. Phillip felt his eyes widened as they fell upon Anne Wheeler.

She caught a glimpse of him beyond the shoulder of the stablehand, and she stiffened. Phillip felt his eyes follow her, almost as if she had captured them. She looked very different in the light of day, with the loose, kinky curls of her hair pulled into a neat bun pinned beneath a black cap. She was, in fact, wearing the uniform of one of their servants, in a humble black dress with long sleeves and a white apron. Still, a few wisps of hair escaped to frame her face, reminding him of what it had looked like to see them soaked and free and wild.

The man she was talking to turned to face Phillip as well, and his eyes widened. He was taller than Anne, but the two stood together with a familiarity that caused Phillip to think they knew one another very well. "Mr. Carlyle," the man said, and Phillip realized the mistake.

"No, I-" he said quickly, but the damage had already been done.

Anne's eyes grew slightly larger, and her lips parted. "Mr... Carlyle," she repeated, slowly and carefully. Her eyes met his, and he knew that she recognized him. She knew he had been in the woods that evening, and she knew that he had kept his identity from her even when he should have revealed it to her. She closed her lips, pursing them, and then quietly murmured to the man beside her, "I need to go." She quickly turned, walking the other way.

"Wait." Phillip's mouth had run dry, so his voice was slightly husky as he called out to her. "Ms. Wheeler, please-" But she was walking swiftly. The man who she had just been talking to moved to block Phillip's path, and his eyes were narrowed. The man drew himself up to his full height, and Phillip swallowed as he looked up at him. HIs expression, which had been respectfully open a moment ago, was now a mask of stone. "Please," Phillip said quietly. "I must speak to her."

"How do you know my sister, Mr. Carlyle?" asked the stablehand quietly, dangerously. He had not made a threat, but his voice was serious. Phillip felt surprise shoot through him when he registered what the man had said. This was Anne's brother, then... And all he had seen of Phillip was that his presence was enough to send his sister running for the hills. He was protective, and he did not know what Phillip's intentions were with the young woman. He understood now.

Phillip took a breath and extended his hand to the stablehand before him to shake. "Phillip Carlyle, sir," he said quietly.

The man ignored his hand. "W.D. Wheeler. I know who you are. How do you know my sister?" W.D. arched an eyebrow, and his eyes did not leave Phillip as his gaze drilled into him.

"I met her last night," Phillip said slowly, carefully.

"That was you?" W.D. muttered, and his voice was positively deadly now. He took a step towards Phillip, and the man tensed up. His stomach sank as he looked into the furious face of the taller man. Anne had told him of what had unfolded, then.

"Yes," he admitted, looking away. "I was a fool, and worse, one with too much whiskey in his system."

"So you ogled my baby sister?" W.D.'s voice was a quiet storm of fury, and his hands were balled into fists at his side. Luckily, Phillip had enough experience with balled fists and thrown punches to know that he would be able to avoid one if it came.

"I swear on my honor, I did not look at her," he said quietly.

"What honor?" W.D. countered. "A man who takes advantage of a girl while she is bathing alone has no honor."

"And I'm hoping to fix that," Phillip said quietly. "I owe her an apology."

"Yes, you do. But you're not going to get to give it to her. Leave, now, Mr. Carlyle."

"I-"

"I don't think you understand, sir. You can fire me, have me punished. But stay away from my sister, or I swear to God I will kill you."

Phillip looked to W.D., the brother who was willing to risk his job and his freedom to protect Anne. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for any man of Philip's status to see to it that W.D. was jailed. But when Phillip looked at W.D., he did not see someone who wanted to hurt him. He saw someone who loved, and fiercely.

Phillip took a step back, lowering his head in submission. "I truly hope you understand," he said quietly. "I don't mean your sister any harm, and I truly regret my actions from last night. Please, pass on my apology to her if you find it in you to do so." He turned and strode out of the stables with his head lowered in respect, all too aware of W.D's gaze burning into his back as he did so. Phillip made sure he walked as straight as possible, but inside, he was kicking himself.

* * *

Over the next three days, Phillip spent most of his time holed up in his study. He did not want to make Anne uncomfortable by accidentally running into her, and he had a deadline to complete to occupy himself with. it was another play, one about a soldier and his waiting love at home. It was dull and boring and terribly uninspired but lately, that was exactly how his writing had been. Thanks to his family name, the audience would tell him that whatever he wrote was incredible. Phillip longed for the days of his earlier writings, where he had written out of a love for the stage and for stories rather than out of obligation to keep the seats filled. He tried to push these thoughts away as much as possible. It did no good to think about those days when he had other, more important things to do. 

The highlight of his week came, however, when he got to go to the theatre. There, he was able to interact with the actors before and after the performance of his play. They were spirited and dedicated, even if it was to perform a script that Phillip knew did not do their talents justice. The performance went well, and the actors' portrayal brought a life to the stage and to the words that he had penned with a flask in his hand. Phillip left the theatre feeling invigorated, for the first time in several weeks. He was going to do it, he decided. His next script was going to come from the same place that the first one had, and it would be for the troupe of actors. 

Phillip was lost in thought as he left the play, so he instructed his carriage driver to leave without him. The walk home was long, but Phillip planned to use it to plan his next script. He knew that for now, he needed to run with the buzz of inspiration. Otherwise, he risked losing it and being left with nothing but a pen in his hand and a blank page. 

Phillip was so lost in thought as he walked down the crowded street that he almost missed the face that had been hovering at the back of his mind for days. 

Phillip looked up, and his eyes found the retreating figure of Anne Wheeler. She looked different now, different than she ever had before. She wore a simple blouse and skirt, both neat and clean as possible. However, even though they were not dirty, Phillip could tell how ragged the fabric was. The skirt had obviously been rehemmed several times, and it was patched in several places. Anne's hair was plaited down her back in a single braid, and as she walked, her head was angled downwards, so she did not see him. He watched for a moment as she was jostled, and he caught a glimpse of her expression as she passed him, not looking up to see him. It was afraid. 

Phillip might have left it to be if he had not seen that in her eyes. But her hands were clenched into tight fists against her skirts, and her eyes were wide as a man shoved his way past her. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Phillip walked in her direction. "Ms. Wheeler," he called out to her when he was a bit closer. He did not reach out to touch her; that was the last thing that she would have needed at the moment. In the crowded marketplace, she was a lone soldier in enemy territory. She was a young woman alone, and though he was certain she could fend for herself, that did not mean she should have to. Anyone could have done almost anything that they liked to her, and as long as their skin was lighter, they would be believed in a court of law. The idea of that disgusted and terrified him, especially when it came to her. 

Anne stiffened when she heard his voice, and for a moment he was worried she would keep walking. But then, she was turning to face him. 

"Mr. Carlyle," she said quietly. Each syllable stabbed at him, and he winced. "Are you going to take my clothing again, or are we past that?" 

Phillip winced, running a hand through his hair. "I have wanted to apologize about that for some time," he admitted. "It was not the best way to meet." 

For a moment, Phillip swore he saw amusement in her eyes. "And whatever makes you think that?" she asked sarcastically. 

A little grin played with his lips as he began to walk beside her, and she continued to walk alongside him. For a moment, she did not look afraid. "It was an unacceptable thing to do, and I know it. I apologize sincerely, Ms. Wheeler. I told your brother to pass it on, but... I do not think he is inclined to do much of anything in my favor at the moment." 

A little breath of laughter escaped Anne's lips as they walked between stalls. He did not know what Anne was looking for, but he would stay with her, at least until she forced him to leave or she got out of this place. "W.D. is not enthused by your existence right now, no," she agreed. "But he forgets that I can do my own talking, and I can handle myself." 

"I don't doubt that, with a tongue sharp as yours," he teased slightly. 

"Better a sharp tongue than one that spins pretty nothings," she replied, stopping to study a display that seemed to have caught her eye. It was beautiful, an assortment of colorful silks that could no doubt be used to make clothing. Phillip recognized this stall as a place that he often asked Hugh, his assistant and one of his closest confidants, to go and fetch material to have gowns made for his mother. Part of being a Carlyle was expensive gifts and niceties as a way to apologize, even if he did not mean it. 

"I would tend to agree with you," Phillip replied, watching as she studied a fabric of rich violet from afar. It would look lovely on her, he decided, even though he knew she was not going to purchase it. 

It was then that the shopkeeper began to cover up his wares, casting a glance at Anne that contained disgust and frustration. Phillip felt his chest constrict as he realized that the man was screening the silks from her view. He glanced at Anne, and for a moment, she seemed to struggle to breathe. Then, she blinked several times and looked away, ducking her head. She was walking away now, swiftly, her face an emotionless mask. 

Phillip would not be buying from them anymore, and as he passed the stand, he murmured to the shopkeeper, "That is no way to treat anyone, especially not a lady. Do not expect to have the Carlyle family as your patrons any longer." His voice was low and dangerous, and then he turned and sped up to catch up with her. "Ms. Wheeler-" 

"Why are you here?" Her voice was quiet but steely, and the words bit into him with force. It was a legitimate question, one that he had been asking himself. "You shouldn't be. I'm a servant in your home, and that's it. Whatever happened in the woods last night was just a drunken stunt. So you should really go." Anne stopped at a stand run by an older woman who seemed to be watching the pair of them with interest. There were various items carved from wood all throughout, with the cheaper items at one end and the more elaborate, expensive ones on another. Anne walked to the side that contained the beautiful, delicate woodworks in search of something to do. 

"Well, I seem to have an unusual knack for doing exactly what I shouldn't," he replied softly. He glanced at what she was currently examining, a small box carved with a tree on the lid. When she saw him looking, she set it down. "What brings you here?" 

"My hairbrush broke," she mumbled. "I wouldn't but a new one, but I can't get it through my hair without the handle." Anne moved to look at a set of beautifully carved combs, gleaming with a reddish tint that was beautiful in the afternoon light. Several were ornamental, but there was also what he thought was a hairbrush with a handle carved in an elaborate fashion and several different combs. Anne set them down, moving towards the end of the table where things were unmarked and only carved to be useful. Quietly, Phillip caught the woman's attention and gestured to them, making sure that Anne did not see. He slid the payment across the table and moved to follow her. 

"You should bring someone next time," he said quietly. "It doesn't seem-" 

"Safe?" she cut him off. "It isn't. It isn't for anyone, but I can take care of myself, Mr. Carlyle. I don't need you swooping in to save the day." When Anne looks at him, it is with a raised eyebrow. "I do not know why you insist on interfering with me, sir. First, it was asking those questions, and now, accompanying me in town. What do you want from me?" 

She turned to face him, and suddenly he realized how close the pair of them were. She was a few inches shorter, and he could see little flecks of gold in her brown eyes as he met them with his own. 

"I want to know you," he murmured. His voice was submissive, quiet against the iron strength in her own. 

"You know my name," she replied, and her eyes seemed to widen a fraction of an inch. She was holding her breath. "Is that not enough?"

"Never." 

For a moment, she was quiet, and then she looked down and swallowed. He wished she would look back up at him, so he could study those flecks of gold just for a moment longer. "Good day, Mr. Carlyle," she replied, and her hand closed around a simple brush on the stand's counter. Carefully, she set down a couple of greenbacks from the coin purse in her hand, and then she lifted her purchase by its wooden handle, moving to brush past him. 

"Wait," he called, turning to look after her. She did not stop. "Call me Phillip, Ms. Wheeler, please." 

She glanced over her shoulder, and for a moment, he could have sworn he saw a glimmer of pleasure in them. "Good day, Phillip." When she turned around this time, Philip was smiling at her retreating figure. Her chin was lifted this time, and she did not lower her gaze. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of what I hope will grow into a decently long fic! It is my first published piece of CarWheeler fanfiction, so please keep that in mind as you read. If you have any feedback or just wanna let me know what you think, feel free to comment!


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